


Adrestia's Jewel

by Metallic_Sweet



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (we are after the war and after the flood), Canon Compliant, Dimitri Week (Fire Emblem), Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Gen, Loneliness, M/M, Manuscript Culture, Mental Health Issues, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21874234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metallic_Sweet/pseuds/Metallic_Sweet
Summary: Five years after the war, Ferdinand oversees the restoration of Enbarr’s castle. Dimitri, Ingrid, and Sylvain come to visit.(For Dimitri’s birthday and Dimitri Week 2019, Day 5: Celebration/Alone)
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir & Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd
Comments: 9
Kudos: 82





	Adrestia's Jewel

The skies in Enbarr are bright. 

That is the impression that Dimitri has always had of the city. Bright and filled with noise and many colours. When he first came into the city, barreling forward towards Edelgard, the sun was high and the day long. The castle and its halls were lit with natural light. The red and yellow of the tapestries and carpets lit the way to Edelgard and the throne. 

The castle was heavily damaged during the war. Repairs had only begun in earnest a year ago when Ferdinand agreed to take up the position of Adrestia’s Prime Minister following his reform and recovery work in Aegir and Hyrm. It had necessitated him to move temporarily to Enbarr, and he had set up in the castle with minimal staff. Budget constraints have limited repairs and renovations to the main rooms and living quarters, but Ferdinand takes pride in paying close attention to this project as his many others. 

“Love what you’ve done to the place,” Sylvain is saying as Ferdinand leads him, Dimitri, and Ingrid through the main hall. “It’s so much less…”

He waves his hand. Flippant and lazy instead of awkward and disregarding Ingrid’s warning glare. Ferdinand smiles at him, although it is not a pleasured or prideful expression. It is very pleasant, however, and somewhat plain in its understanding. 

“I have a personal love for red,” he says, which reflects in the accents to his sleeves and the ruby pendant he wears at his neck, “but the blue is easier to come by these days since we made progress with Morfis.” 

“Makes me think of spring,” Sylvain says with a breathy sigh, “and lady’s under –”

“Ah,” Ferdinand says, not flushing nor giving away any other indication of scandal, “we are here. Come, Dimitri King, Margrave Gautier, Ingrid of House Galatea! Let us have a good meal together before retiring for the night.” 

The dining hall has also been redone. The solid oak table and chairs have remained the same, but all of the upholstery has been replaced in the new blue and the damaged windows have been set in tasteful clover frames. Ferdinand had written that it was good to give the local craftsmen some business as the collapse of the aristocracy and bourgeoisie had gutted their income. Adrestia’s economy has suffered without the collapse of the artisan industry atop of everything else. 

“I love the new windows,” Ingrid says, and she stops to admire the view out of one. “These frames are really excellent.” 

“I thought so, too,” Ferdinand says, the same smile as before. 

Dinner is a quiet, almost intimate affair. Dinner wine is served, but they all take it heavily watered. The dishes are well-presented but modest. There are root vegetables cooked to tenderness, and the only meat is a large pheasant that Ferdinand talks about hunting himself on his morning ride. Dessert are fruit from Aegir, late season apples that have thin skin. Sylvain and Ingrid do most of the talking and eating, filling in both Dimitri and Ferdinand on the state of Gautier territory and Ingrid’s recent work with Seteth and Flayn in repairing Garreg Mach. 

“Oh!” Ingrid says as the dishes are cleared away and they begin to ready to retire. “Ferdinand, have you heard from Byleth yet?”

Ferdinand blinks, taken aback for the first time since he met them outside of Enbarr’s gates. “I have not heard from the professor,” he says, pushing in his chair. “Has something happened?”

“Have any of you heard?” Ingrid asks, and when Sylvain and Dimitri both shake their heads, she flushes. “Oh. Perhaps it was supposed to be a secret…” 

“Well, cat’s out of the bag,” Sylvain says, slinging an arm around her shoulders and grinning as she elbows him in the side none too gently. “Don’t leave both our King and the Duke Aegir hanging, Ingrid of House Galatea.” 

“I hate you,” Ingrid says without any heat before she sighs; she also doesn’t try to push Sylvain further away. “The professor is thinking of planning a tour, celebrating Fódlan five years on from the war. Likely for mid-autumn. Blessing the crops and bringing joy to the faithful. I believe it was Seteth who suggested it. They wanted to contact you, Ferdinand, for advice where would be most prudent to travel in Adrestia.” 

“I am happy the Archbishop thought of me,” Ferdinand says, and there’s an odd note to his voice even as he smiles sincerely, “and I would be honoured to assist. I look forward to the Archbishop’s letter.” 

They exit the dining hall together, Sylvain and Ingrid still connected by Sylvain’s arm. Dimitri only listens to their bickering with half an ear. At the branch in the hall that leads either towards the library or the guest quarters, Dimitri draws to parade rest. 

“Ferdinand,” he says as everyone else falls into similar positions, “I need to discuss something with you. May we use the library?” 

“Oh,” Ferdinand says, eyebrows rising slightly to disappear beneath his hair; Dimitri notices perhaps belatedly that it has grown longer. “Yes, of course.” 

“We’ll head to bed,” Ingrid says, reading the atmosphere. 

“We will?” Sylvain asks, playfully sly, before yelping as Ingrid stomps on his foot. “Ow! What was that for?”

“Sylvain,” Ingrid sighs before inclining her head to both Dimitri and Ferdinand. “Good evening, Your Highness, Duke Aegir.” 

“Good evening, Margrave Gauter, Ingrid of Galatea,” Ferdinand says as Sylvain waves at them and mock-limps dramatically after Ingrid. 

“Good night,” Dimitri says, rather belatedly. 

Ingrid and Sylvain depart, bickering again. Dimitri shakes himself. He turns back to Ferdinand, whose gaze meets Dimitri’s forehead instead of his eye. 

“Please, Your Highness,” Ferdinand says, motioning for Dimitri to walk ahead of him down the library hall, his manner and intonation in perfect politeness. “This way.” 

Enbarr’s library is as gigantic as it is beautiful. It boasts, unlike most libraries, high windows, which were undamaged by the war. The glass, set into frames from early in the castle’s life, are nearly all stained presentation of stories of the Goddess and the Ten Elites. The light that comes through is mild, enough to light the wide room during the day and not damage the precious books and scrolls. 

The bookcases are tall, bolted into the walls and the floors. Outside of Garreg Mach, it is the largest collection of books and scrolls in Fódlan, collecting science as much as tales and papers of far lands even past the Eastern Sea. Dimitri lingers by an opened scroll depicting battle formations from days prior to Fódlan’s founding. He recognises Ferdinand’s hand in the penciled notes on a stack of lower quality paper. 

“You are studying ancient military tactics?” 

Shifting. Dimitri looks up to see Ferdinand unfolding covers for the armchairs. The chairs haven’t been reupholstered and still bear House Hresvelg colours. The covers look like they are more suited for a bedroom than for public use. Dimitri notices the broken duchess that has been pushed out of the light of the windows and that has two bedding pillows on it. He wonders if Ferdinand has been sleeping here. 

He knows he has been set up in the Emperor’s quarters as he always is when he comes to Enbarr. He also knows that he will not sleep there. No one does. 

“Yes, not seriously,” Ferdinand says as he smooths out the cover on the seat cushion. “Please, come sit. I will light the fire.” 

Dimitri joins him by the hearth. Ferdinand lights it with a snap of his fingers. A practiced, almost absent-minded motion. Nothing about Ferdinand is absent-minded. 

During the war, Byleth had trained them all in basic magic. So that they could heal with friends and defend themselves if caught out by foes. Dimitri had trouble taking magic seriously outside of healing. He remembers better sitting with Ferdinand as Lorenz translated the finer points in the style of his youthful year at the Fhirdiad School of Sorcery. Ferdinand took well to the lessons, and Dimitri could only try his best to do half as well. 

“You,” Ferdinand starts, not unkindly, “wanted to speak with me?”

“Ah,” Dimitri says, realising he has been staring into the hearth, “yes.”

He looks away. Meets Ferdinand’s gaze. His eyes are focused but lack brightness. Questioning but without his usual inquisitive curiosity. Dimitri had noticed that, even with all of Ferdinand’s cheerful boasting about hunting pheasant at dinner, he had not eaten any of it. He had, in fact, only eaten about as much as Dimitri, who is never hungry, and drank no wine. 

“You seem troubled,” Dimitri says, aware of himself and that his words are somewhat lacking. 

Ferdinand blinks. 

“I…” 

His tone falters. Ferdinand breaks eye contact. He looks to the hearth. Down. Takes a moment to right himself. The attempt is not completely successful. He looks back at Dimitri, embarrassed and more than a little upset. 

“I am sorry,” he starts again, lacing his fingers together on his lap and worrying the slight excess of fabric between his right thumb and forefinger. “I have been, ah, troubled, I guess you could say, but it is not anything with which you need to concern yourself, Your Highness! As your Prime Minister of Adrestia, I am more than adept at dealing with my personal matters.”

Dimitri pauses. Ferdinand has rallied himself with his words, but the smile he offers still lacks his usual brightness. It doesn’t reach his eyes. 

During the war, even in Dimitri’s worst days, he had awareness that Ferdinand, Lorenz, and Marianne were in a different situation to the rest of the Blue Lions. Lorenz could only rejoin them as they passed through Gloucester, and while he has always been faithful to their cause, he has never fully looked Dimitri in the eye. Marianne was frightened by the change in Dimitri, but she understood it far quicker and better than many others. She brought Dorte and called for other horses to be sent from Edmund, even before Rodrigue’s final plea brought Dimitri’s sense back from the ghosts. 

Ferdinand, on the other hand, never faltered. He arrived alongside Kingdom forces with a full battalion and skilled hands, all the coin he could call his own from the sale of his own possessions and skill. He faced Dimitri and smiled, bright as Enbarr would shine as they moved to end the bloody war. He gave up everything, Dimitri understood even in the depths of his madness, and gave himself to Dimitri’s cause. 

That is why Dimitri recognises the loneliness in Ferdinand as he sees it. 

Ferdinand opens his mouth, his shoulders straightening. 

Dimitri’s stomach clenches. He isn’t very good at this. He never has been. If the solution is not revenge or violence, Dimitri is fairly useless. For something like this:

“I don’t mind,” Dimitri says, too bluntly but because he recognises Ferdinand’s body language as someone readying to redirect the conversation. “Listening, I mean. I do not know if I may do anything, but I will listen.” 

“Oh,” Ferdinand says.

It is very small. His shoulders sag. His entire body seems to collapse in on itself, his face draining of colour. He looks mortified. 

“I…” 

He looks down again. At this angle, Dimitri can better tell that his hair has grown longer. Currently, the fashion is for braids, copied from the northern parts of Fódlan. Ferdinand, to Dimitri’s knowledge, has never braided his hair. It flows free, now long enough to brush beneath his elbows when standing. 

Hunched as he is, his hair pools around his shoulders. The ends trail at his sides. Around his arms. Into his lap. 

A shield. 

He doesn’t say anything. Dimitri watches him stare at his fingers worrying his glove. The even set of his knees and how his feet rest toes straight and heels flat on the ground. 

Dimitri breathes in. 

“Ferdinand,” he says. 

It is not soft. Dimitri does not remember how to be such a person. 

Ferdinand is holding his breath. 

Dimitri breathes out. 

“Perhaps,” he says, carefully watching to see if Ferdinand will start breathing again, “you could tell me what you are studying?” 

Ferdinand blinks. Surprised. He breathes in. 

“Studying?” he asks, thrown off and very small. 

Dimitri motions back towards the table. The open scroll and Ferdinand’s notes. Ferdinand looks over to it. His hair obscures most of his face, but Dimitri can tell he’s having trouble figuring out how to take this request. 

Dimitri is very aware of how he breathes out. 

“It has been a long time since I have had someone to discuss history,” Dimitri says, and he sits forward enough to better see Ferdinand’s expression. “I remember you used to converse with Flayn about it at the academy in the dining hall.” 

“Oh?” and Ferdinand does lift his head at that, blinking with no small amount of surprise. “Yes. I wasn’t aware…” He pauses, looking towards the table again with a complicated expression. “I still write to Flayn about history. She is kind to lend me scrolls from Garreg Mach sometimes, so that I may copy them. That is where that one is from.”

Dimitri turns to look at the table. There is, he now notices, a calligraphy kit and a scale for ink mixing set up on a separate table just behind the one with the scroll and notes. A bottle of oil and a pile of ash with a small scoop sit on a strip of leather to keep them from wobbling. Scraps of parchment are crumpled in a basket underneath that table, likely used as ink testing sheets. 

Ferdinand shifts. Dimitri glances back to find him looking at Dimitri with a reserved type of curiosity. It’s the lightest expression he has worn since Dimitri, Ingrid, and Sylvain arrived to see the castle repairs. 

“May I see?” Dimitri asks before clarifying: “What you are working on, I mean.” 

“Oh,” Ferdinand says, and his shoulders fold a bit more in surprise; he straightens up almost as quickly, looking suddenly both eager and embarrassed. “I did walk right into that, didn’t I?”

Dimitri opens his mouth to respond but then, as Ferdinand rises, recognises that it was a rhetorical question. Ferdinand usually doesn’t vocalise those. Dimitri stands up and follows Ferdinand to the work station. He watches how Ferdinand moves in the space as it’s his own, the first time he’s seemed comfortable during this stay. Dimitri considers, with a careful feeling of self-awareness, that Ferdinand might not only be lonely. 

In the war, most of their former Black Eagles classmates died. Petra now sits on the throne of Brigid across the sea, a close ally but distant with her responsibilities. Caspar, the sole survivor of House Bergliez, allowed his territory to be reformed with Ferdinand’s assistance and then promptly abandoned his title to leave on a journey east. Dimitri is not privy of the exact circumstances, but that happened around the same time that Ferdinand took up residence in Enbarr. 

A year, Dimitri thinks as Ferdinand lights the desk lamp, is a long time to be left alone. 

“I am working on a history of ancient battle formations,” he says, and Dimitri leans forward to look between the illuminations in the scroll and Ferdinand’s draft in pencil. “This is called a phalanx according to the text and is similar to our light cavalry formations but with heavy infantry.” 

Dimitri hears himself hum. He leans forward, tilting his head slightly to focus his eye better. He can see that Ferdinand has annotated the different weapons used in the illumination on his draft. A second piece of parchment, slightly higher quality than the previous, lies to the side with standard calligraphy, reflecting upon the use of sarissas in the illumination. Dimitri shifts, reading over the half-finished page and conscious of keeping his hands at his sides to avoid disturbing anything. 

_Long pole weapons were highly effective for frontline combatants alongside javeliners. In the last six hundred years, long pole has fallen out of favour as infantry assaults are accompanied by magic users and cavalry provide further offense from the ground and air. Magic users are, however, generally limited by their number of casts. Long pole fighting styles could benefit current practices if they take into account modern factors. A goal may be to generally extend infantry endurance and offensive reach._

“Ferdinand,” Dimitri says, the words exiting his mouth on their own will, “this is not just a reproduction.” 

“I –” Ferdinand starts, and Dimitri looks up to find Ferdinand is watching him with no small amount of anxiety. “No. That is just reflection –”

“You have put effort with your calligraphy,” Dimitri points out, straightening. 

Ferdinand straightens as well. He frowns at Dimitri, an unfamiliar expression. 

“I mean nothing by it,” Ferdinand says, oddly defensive. “I’m no good with sitting idle, and I do not want to waste the ink. I can only make so much bone black, so what Is not suitable for reproduction is passable enough for note-taking –”

“Ferdinand,” Dimitri says, a little alarmed because Ferdinand is becoming more upset as he speaks. “I didn’t mean to imply you were lying. I am interested. You have a lot of useful insight.”

“Oh,” Ferdinand says, completely taken aback; he flushes and looks down. “I misunderstood. I… um. Thank you. Your Highness.” 

For a lack of a better reaction, Dimitri nods. He looks back at Ferdinand’s calligraphy. The paper is faintly lined for more to be written, and Dimitri sees, under the scroll stand, a small stack of similar quality paper that have already been completed. 

He thinks of Garreg Mach. Since Byleth became archbishop and Rhea retired to live with Catherine, Dimitri has enjoyed Byleth’s company but only when their schedules allow. He suspects that distance is felt acutely by Ferdinand as well. Byleth is close with Ferdinand; they had to be to attract him to the Blue Lions, and that connection is strong enough that it took Ferdinand into a war against his homeland. It wasn’t a choice. It was an act of faith. 

Dimitri understands that now as he did not when Byleth first set the crown upon his head. 

They will live with the war for the rest of their lives. 

“It is growing late,” Ferdinand says, which makes Dimitri realise that he has drifted off for longer than he should. “We have much to do in the morning with the afternoon guild tours.” 

Dimitri nods. Ferdinand lifts his hand. The Fire in the lamp snuffs itself with a flick of his fingers. 

“Would,” Dimitri says, perhaps little sharp but before Ferdinand can do the same to the hearth, “you be amiable to sharing more of your reflections with me? I am no scholar, but I think you are correct—these ancient formations would benefit us if we better understood their application.”

Ferdinand stares at him. Frozen. Hand raised and eyes wide. 

But, slowly, his face softens. The smile there is small and moves his cheeks. It puts a warm light in his eyes.

“I am no scholar either,” he says, but the pleasure at the topic warms his voice, “but if Your Highness is interested, it would be my pleasure.”

Dimitri feels himself smiling. Ferdinand completes the motion of snuffing out the hearth. Outside, the moon is bright enough that it’s light filters through the windows. At their angle, Dimitri sees Ferdinand’s eyes. The part of his lips. The red of the ruby that rests upon his neck. It is not an indulgence. 

Ferdinand is Adrestia’s jewel.

“And mine as well,” Dimitri says.

He lifts his hand. Palm up. Ferdinand looks at it for a short moment before he lifts his own. Their settle their hands, and Dimitri folds their fingers together. Gauntlets and gloves. Warm flesh beneath. 

The moon lights their steps as they walk towards the future.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to connect with me on [Twitter @Metallic_Sweet](https://twitter.com/Metallic_Sweet)!


End file.
